I n d e p e n d e n c e
by Anna Marcelli Palmer
Summary: He turns his face to look at me, but there is no face.


*LIGHTS ON*

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((((((((...dhjkasdhjsjalfffff...asdsdsbbbbbaa

atttttt. MissBat. Are you paying attention?))))))))))

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Steps. Somewhere close. The echo of a brazen voice. A terrifying dalliance of sound and haze.  
My vision's a fucking blur, waltzing through the double vision. Sweatdrops on my lids. Void.

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((((((...accusedoftrreasonagainstournation...))))))))

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Are they talking to me? Is it me? Sense they need me to answer to a question I missed. Open mouth, try to utter something, but every inhale of air is another crucifixion.

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...oh. I see.

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A slender figure in a disheartening blue uniform. I bloody hate uniforms. They hardly ever mean good news.

A horrid man dressed in the colors of the regime. He is speaking, but my head is spinning like a cartwheel, so I can't dechipher a word. There is something surreally cruel about him, though. Try to discern his face through the blindening whiteness of the lamp.

I doubt there is a face at all.

Bruises and cuts. Something sticky tumbles down my right cheek, eyes crying uncontrollably as I laugh my head off. Life's in pieces, but that's no news. I am a rather butchered piece of meat, shreds of clothing stuck on nothing but bleeding bits of flesh, listening to the monologue of a mouthless, faceless asshole of the fucking regime.

Hilarious.

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WHAT IS SO FUNNY YOU BITCH?

Sniggers. Relentless and deafening. I laugh and then cough up something that looks worryingly like scarlet mucus. Something collides against the back of my head. But I can hardly feel it.

((((((((((( Stop. Don't kill her yet.)))))))))))

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How did it come to this? I am a simple being. Never wanted to play heroine, for anyone's sake.

All I loved was sex and jewels. Lots of sex. Lots of jewels. Nothing really threatening about that. Sex is an instict. Jewels are shiny. Simple as that.

There is something amiss, but I am so impossibly beat up that the adrenaline pumping through the circulatory system alone has drugged me to no end. I am seated upon something cold. Shiver slightly. A little terrified.

Try to count the men in the room. Four...five? Can't tell. They oscillate within a sea of brightness. None of them has a face.

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(((((((((((((there is only one way to avoid the coincidences of your actions. Do you have any information, regarding the whereabouts of the terrorist called Project Shadow?)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

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Oh. Yessssss i remember i do now

...It was winter. Uprisings harassing the snow-coated streets of Station Square. Emaciated people with frozen limbs and hearts of fire, yielding frying pans, kitchen knives, laughable homemade weaponry. Children executed in cold blood, pregnant women shot in their swollen tummies.

War and rigid miles of relentless, crimson ice.

I cough up organic liquid, convulsing in my chair of torture. A hand wipes my mouth with a rag covered in something dreadful. I am encouraged to carry on.

Friends, I mutter. They were my friends. They led a large portion of the populace to safety and then led the rebellion themselves. Fought against Robotnik's abhorrent roboticized troops. Against his iron grip.

Days and nights were dreadful. The remote sound of a scream, the aftermath of a small explosion, heavy footsteps, the clicking of a gun being armed, and you knew you had to run. The subway station had become a huge pile of debris, underneath which the resistance breathed and thrived. Messages of hope adorned the few remaining walls. FREEDO- and then just a deplorable red stain where the "M" ought to reside.

Fucking idiots.  
Ludicrous little creatures.

See now, why I only loved sex and jewels? Sex is sticky. Jewels glitter. But neither of the two ever pretends to serve another purpose. Them resistances, though.

Bloody fools.

I mean, they-they believed that-THAT- HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~

I am drowning in a sequence of sniggers, choking on oozing, viscous blood. Tumble to the floor, a shaking patch of dying desperation, and they are hitting and hitting and hitting and battering me with the backs of their guns, tearing more cloth, more skin, more meat, more brain.

FOOLS!, I scream. BLOODY FOOLS!

They won! They fucking won the war and the rebellion led to another monarchy, to yet another unspeakable horror! The Blue Regime- it saved people only to turn them to slaves the day after! He went mad! He killed his friends, his girlfriend!

I scream until my lungs can't take it anymore. Pain's unbearable. Turn my spinning head to the side and see his cold, green eyes looking down on me from a shadowy corner of the room.

He's here.

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((((((((((Hey, Rouge. Not happy to see ol' me?))))))))))))

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(((((((((( C' moooon, we used to be friends, until Shadow got mad and tried to kill me))))))))))))))))))))

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No, I cry out. He is not mad. You are the one that went schizzo without anyone noticing. You think of yourself as a hero, but all you ever yearned for was the abuse of power. I am a jewel thief and a criminal, and proud. But you are a filthy piece of scam, and he does you an honor even by hating you.

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((((((((((((((((((((((But you can still be saved, Rouge. Your sins can be erased. All you have to do is cooperate)))))))))))))))))))

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No. I will never ever cooperate, I stammer, but something hits me and smashes two of my front teeth before I can finish the exclamation. For a brief moment, eyebrows join one another, as though in deep contemplation. Then he raises his face, and it is not the heartwarming face it once was, it is an emotionless facade with eyes like green buttons and a huge, sewed smile.

He gives me a thumbs up before he speakes again. His men look at me with their nonexisting eyes, grinning evilly with their nonexisting lips.

Clarity kicks in, and as soon as it does, I automatically wish for oblivion.

His voice fills the room.

"Rouge The Bat, you have been found guilty of treason against the regime. You shall face the punishment of execution."

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Tears dampen my eyes, make the way down to a broken muzzle.

"I loved sex, and I loved jewels", I whisper. "But, more of all, I 've always loved _him._"

Nobody cares, of course. Just say so in case the universe is interested.

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Forced to my knees, dragged out like a decaying rag doll. In no time we're outside, amidst the square, in the blindening sun of spring. Half-clozed eyes, I try to distinguish shape, meaning, eyeballs looking frantically for a dose of beauty to keep with me.

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Click.

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A giant oak tree spreads its branches against the brightness of the day. Upon it, two tiny birds are neatly building a small nest.

Mesmerizing.

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BANG.


End file.
